Living Life
by Hopeful Writer
Summary: Life after Voldemort isn’t easy, and the Hogwarts students are left with their own scars. It could also fall in the Angst category. Rated PG for more adult themes (i.e. death, suicide, etc.).


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Disclaimer: If you have to ask, you'll never know.

A/N – Another school computer story. I have way too much free time. Or… I don't do enough work when we have time in tech. Oh, well. Actually, I didn't finish all this on the school computers. I wound up taking it home and finishing it during summer. But it was worth it. Anyway, this was started before OotP was released. That means, no spoilers for those of you who haven't read it, and contradictions for those of you who have.

Story Summary: Life after Voldemort isn't easy, and the Hogwarts students are left with their own scars.

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LIVING LIFE

By: Hopeful Writer

It hadn't been easy. Living after Voldemort was almost as bad as living through Voldemort, sometimes. The wizarding world was in ruins, and somebody had to pick up the mess. Because the Ministry had turned a blind eye towards Voldemort, they now claimed that they had no reason to help clean up a mess they didn't make.

That left the Hogwarts students, those who had remained faithful to Albus Dumbledore, as well as the hundred or so witches and wizards who had fought with them and survived.

Ron Weasley was sick of this war.

He was sick of fighting, sick of cleaning, sick to all hell of finding the dead bodies of his comrades, friends, and family.

Yes, the bodies of his family. Charlie had died during the fight (more on that later) and Fred had been missing since about five months into Ron's seventh year, three months after the start of the war. Two weeks ago, George and Ginny had been assigned to "fix" an area of northern London when they had discovered it. The tip off had been the Weasley hair, but George recognized him quickly anyway.

George wasn't doing so well, but he had learned to deal. The loss of a sibling is always hard, but it is multiplied when it's an identical twin. He had managed to get up and go back to work yesterday, but everyday was still a challenge without his twin brother to live with. Alicia had been helping him through the tough time, and the rest of the Weasleys were there too.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione had been in the thick of the fighting and were now in the middle of the cleaning. Everyone had their scars. Harry's were physical. He had lost an arm in the fight, an _Avada Kedavra_ curse that had been altered just before it had hit him. Hermione had saved his life, but cost him his wand arm. He defeated Voldemort holding his wand with his left hand.

Hermione's scars were intellectual. She had lost her memory in the fight, and, thought it had been replaced (through numerous spells and potions), it was nothing like it used to be. The girl who had once been able to quote _Hogwarts, A History_ from memory could now barely remember what she ate for breakfast.

Ron's were the emotional scars. His spirit had been shattered when he had watched his own brother brutally murdered. He and Charlie had been looking for Harry when they had run into a group of Death Eaters. They had captured the boys and killed Charlie. Ron was able to escape when Voldemort had called them. 

He had been the one to find Neville Longbottom's mangled body, in a pile of ruins near the Hogwarts lake. Eyes still open, blood dried and crusted in his ears, nose, mouth, and eye sockets. Head dented slightly, as if he'd received a hard blow there. Ron had been terrified.

He had nightmares every night. Sometimes Harry and Hermione were in them, and it was of the fight, where all three had come so close to being killed they had a permanent tremor running through their bodies. Sometimes Neville and Charlie were in them, and Ron saw their torn, broken bodies lying before him.

And sometimes Hermione was in them alone. And, sometimes, just sometimes, she was normal again. They were talking or playing chess or just being normal. And, after those nightmares, Ron would wake up in tears, feeling like the whole world had come crashing down around his ears and nothing would ever be like that again. That's why they were nightmares.  
There were other people who had problems too. Ron knew for a fact that his little sister Ginny cried herself to sleep every night in memory of Colin Creevey, her first serious boyfriend. George suffered every time he wanted to tell Fred something, only to realize Fred wasn't alive. Dean Thomas's little brother had been one of the first casualties of the war, and his parents were in St. Mungo's dealing with the aftereffects of the Crucitas Curse. Seamus Finnegan had watched his mother bravely stand against Voldemort, only to see her fall to her death in a battle. His father was alive, but, as a Muggle, he didn't quite understand what the fight was for, but only knew his wife was dead.

The seventh-year boys' dorm was a very depressing place. Neville's bed had remained in the room, still adorned with pictures of his parents and grandmother. His grandmother had been hysterical when Neville's body was brought back and still hadn't really recovered. Mrs. Weasley had been spending a lot of time with her for comfort, but it seemed the other woman didn't really want to be comforted. "I'm not supposed to have outlived them all," she often wailed.

Dean spent a lot of time staring at his ceiling, or pictures of his little brother. He always looked like he'd been crying for hours, when he emerged from the dorm for meals and classes.

Seamus, funny Seamus who always had a joke to tell, now had a temper that rivaled even Snape's on a bad day. He was constantly snapping at everyone, walked around with a sulk, and refused to work at all in class. He had threatened to snap his wand once, and would have too, if Dean hadn't panicked and begged him not to. Dean was the only thing that kept Seamus sane and in the Muggle world. They were best friends, and nothing could change that.

Harry, who should have had it the worst, was really doing quite well. He was making the most of his one arm and was trying to be the optimistic voice in the group. It was really important that _one _of them find the good in life, because the other three were doing quite poorly at it.

Ron had the nightmares, which kept him awake almost all night, every night. Because of this insomnia, he distanced himself from the group. He was constantly slipping into naps during classes, and he was a wreck.

Nobody said a word.

Everyone was struggling, and Ron wasn't the worst, but nobody even seemed concerned about him skipping meals or falling asleep at random moments. He hadn't picked up his wizard's chess set in ages, and hadn't flown on a broom since before the war. During the war, chess had been his only outlet for stress, when he couldn't watch pieces brutally slaughtering each other. After the war, he couldn't watch _anything_ being broken apart. He had only played chess once since, and it had made him so violently sick he missed the better half of his classes that day.

Ron Weasley was sick of this war.

He had put a wand to his head once, with the full intention of ending his life. It had been Hermione who had saved his life. With the curse on the tip of his tongue, his life flashing before his eyes, Ron was filled with a million memories of his best friends. One in particular stood out. It was sixth year, late May or early June probably (the date was unclear in his mind), a Hogsmeade trip. Harry had Quidditch, as was usual for that time of year, so it was only Ron and Hermione (not that he minded, of course).

The day hadn't been perfect, with interruptions from Snape and Draco Malfoy marring it, but it had been pretty damn good. It had been, at the very least, enjoyable, and the pair laughed and talked as they walked back to Hogwarts. The sun was just beginning to set over Hogwarts' lake, and Hermione paused to admire it. Ron could remember the picture as clearly as if it were that very moment. She looked so beautiful, her face lit up in purples and pinks, a broad smile on it, tears not yet shed giving her eyes a glittering effect.

And Ron kissed her. Really, he didn't have a choice.

And, pressing that wand to his head, he had the memory of Hermione's lips on his, and her body against him, the reflection of the sunset on her cherubic face. And he knew, he _knew,_ he had a reason to keep living.

But living was certainly hell.

So now we focus on 13 May 1998, to a castle somewhere hidden in the Scotland area, to a red and gold Common Room where Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were sprawled out on a couch, her head resting in his lap, his hands playing idly with her hair. They were not really talking, just thinking and beginning to grow tired, even though it was only 5:30 p.m.

Hermione yawned and sat up. "We need to do something," she declared. "You, me, Harry, Seamus, Dean, Ginny. Come on, let's go to Hogsmeade, Ron."

Ron, who was yawning too, cocked his head and grinned wryly, a dry, humorless smile. "Okay, Marshmallow. I'll go get the guys."

She grinned widely and hugged him. Marshmallow had become her nickname after her parents had sent a jar of marshmallow fluff a week after school began this year. Ron had absentmindedly remarked that it looked like her hair (minus the color, of course). Since then, he had taken to calling her Marshmallow. 

When the group was assembled in the Common Room, they started the long walk to Hogsmeade. After the end of the war, it had become okay for the seventh year students to go to the little town without teacher supervision. Dumbledore's reasoning had been that they were old enough to look out for themselves, but everyone knew that he was only trying to cheer them up a bit.

"I wish we had our Apparating licenses so we could just Apparate to Hogsmeade," Dean groaned, the cool breeze whipping his dark hair backwards.

Ron waited for Hermione to say something, but it never came. He frowned, staring at the ground in front of him, then said, "You can't Apparate from Hogwarts grounds." His voice was barely audible, but everyone heard it.

There was a sad pause before Hermione muttered, "Right."

"Why are we doing this?" Seamus asked suddenly. He looked ready to turn around.

"For fun," Harry stated firmly. Seamus snorted, and Ginny looked up at him. "Remember what that is?"

"No," the sandy-haired boy retorted bitterly.

"Shut up, Seamus," Ron shot back. "We'll just go get some butterbeers and then come back. My mum always said that fresh air does wonders."

Ginny giggled, a rare sound. "Remember when she used to say that to Percy, Ron? He was always holed up in his room, working on some project or another—"

"Or just trying to stay away from George and F—Fred," Ron interjected. No one said anything about his stutter.

"Right," Ginny confirmed. "And Mum used to storm up the steps and bang on his door and yell at him to go de-gnome the garden, or play Quidditch, or anything so he was out of that stuffy room."

Ron grinned slightly. "Yeah, and he used to tell her that his projects were far more important than some Quidditch game. And Bill and Charlie would look at each other and try to figure out what in the world could possibly be more important than Quidditch."

That got a small laugh from Dean and Harry. Ginny sighed. "I wish life was still that simple."

"Don't we all," muttered Seamus, kicking a pebble in his path.

Again, silence. Finally Hermione spoke up. "Let's pretend – just for today – that life _is_ that simple again."

Harry glanced nervously at the stump where his arm used to be, and Seamus just glared at her. Dean gave a choked sort of laugh, and Ginny and Ron exchanged dubious looks. "Won't work," Seamus snapped back. "I can't just forget."

Harry wrapped his good arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Sorry, Herm, but it's hard to ignore some stuff."

She sighed, looking terribly sad. "I know. It was just a thought."

Ron sought desperately to cheer her up. They were just reaching Hogsmeade when he got an idea. "Hey, Mione, you want to go get a book?" he asked, looking pleased at his suggestion, especially when her eyes lit up.

"Yeah!"

Dean grinned slightly, his normal sad grin. "We'll meet you guys at the Three Broomsticks." He, Seamus, and Ginny started there, but Harry hesitated.

"You want me to come?" he asked, glancing between the two.

Ron gave him a lopsided grin. "Up to you, mate. We can tell you really want to be with Ginny." Hermione nudged him gently in the ribs.

Harry laughed. "Glad you don't mind," he replied, clapping Ron on the back. "See you in a little while."

"Maybe not," Ron remarked. "You know how Mione shops." She stuck her tongue out at him and raced down the street, with him in hot pursuit.

She staggered to a stop at an intersection, hesitating. Finally she gave in and turned to Ron. "Which way?" she questioned, looking frustrated with herself.

He looped an arm around her. "Follow me."

When they arrived, Hermione became more like her old self. The bookstore was apparently one place she hadn't forgotten, and she walked through the aisles, gently caressing the books like old friends. Ron watched her, smiling one of his first real smiles since the war began.

Hermione made her purchases in a relatively short period of time, and they walked down the street slowly, happy just to be together. On impulse, Hermione stopped and turned to him. "Thank you, Ron."

He regarded her with curiosity. "For what? It was just a trip to the bookstore."

She shook her head, feeling the stubborn tears starting to well up in her eyes. "For... for caring enough to bring it up. For sticking with me and not running off with the guys. For always being there when I need to talk." Hermione gave a choked sob. "For not dying."

Instantly, Ron wrapped her in an embrace. "Then I guess I ought to be thanking you too," he murmured into her hair, allowing her to cry freely onto his shirt. People were milling past them on the sidewalk, but no one paid any attention to the two teenage war veterans.

When they broke apart, Ron locked eyes with her, feeling that same feeling in his stomach that he had gotten at Hogwarts lake a million lifetimes ago. Fred's lifetime ago. Charlie's lifetime ago. Neville's lifetime ago.

There were a million thoughts running through his brain as he lowered his lips to hers. Then there was only one.

Maybe living wasn't such a mistake.

A/N – Woah, I finished it. *shudders* That thing was damned depressing and not-too-easy to write. I'm actually... kind of proud of it (anybody who knows me knows that is a rarity indeed). Please review. You would make my day.


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